Chapter 36 (Patreon)

Four years.

A full four years.

Do you know how Ragnar Kagenou had spent those four years?

To hunt down Kenjaku, he had run all across Europe, chasing that bastard in circles—

No, that wasn’t right.

It was a pursuit.

A relentless one.

Throughout those four years, Ragnar had crossed country after country trying to track him down, only for Kenjaku to always slip away just one step ahead.

And now, at last—

England.

London.

At that moment, Ragnar’s phone lit up with a message from Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo: “Ran, you’ve been moving around way too openly. The higher-ups in the jujutsu world are starting to get dissatisfied. They think there’s a chance you might defect... but I’ve already pressed it down for now, so don’t worry.” (Read)

Ragnar Kagenou: “Either way, thanks. When I get back, I’ll personally check whether those old fossils are still in good health.” (Read)

Satoru Gojo: “Calm down. There’s no need to dirty our hands because of them.” (Unread)

At that same time, Satoru Gojo was at Tokyo Jujutsu High.

“My, my, this is really unfortunate,” Gojo said lightly. “You all could’ve just left him alone. But no, you just had to go out of your way to put pressure on yourselves.”

The higher-ups surrounding him immediately snapped back.

“What do you mean by that? Do you think he would actually dare lay a hand on us?!”

Gojo answered in the same casual tone as ever,

“Who knows? Better be careful you don’t get yourselves killed.”

“Satoru Gojo! You are a member of Jujutsu High! Are you seriously going to stand there and watch while we’re murdered?!”

“Of course not,” Gojo replied. “But who knows when Ragnar will come back?”

The meaning behind his words was obvious.

On the surface, sure, he would stop Ragnar from killing them.

But in reality, he had no idea when Ragnar would return. And if Ragnar happened to come back, decided to kill them, and Gojo just so happened to arrive too late to stop it—

Well, that wouldn’t exactly be his fault, would it?

“Satoru Gojo, you...!”

But Gojo simply turned around and left.

The truth was, he had no affection for those old fossils either. They loved handing out death sentences the moment anything inconvenienced them, treating the younger generation’s lives like pieces on a board and stripping them of even the right to choose.

After reading the message, Ragnar’s expression darkened.

“These old bastards in the jujutsu world really have some nerve. Acting like they’re actually somebody.”

If I don’t punch some sense into them, they really won’t understand one simple truth—

Power is violence.

Then his mood grew even worse when he thought of the other problem.

“That damn Kenjaku, running all over the place every single day... what a pain in the ass.”

At the moment, Ragnar only knew one thing for certain—

Kenjaku was in London.

But as for the exact location, he had nothing.

There was no helping it. He had to keep a low profile for now. If he made too much noise, Kenjaku would just slip away again.

He had only passed through the other countries on the way here and never really stopped to take a proper look around.

But this time, in London...

He might finally be able to stay for a bit.

A little while later, things proved to be exactly as he thought.

He wandered around the city for the entire day, yet still found no trace of Kenjaku.

By the time evening approached, Ragnar had no choice but to deal with something much more practical.

“Tch. I’ll exchange some gold for pounds first.”

If he was going to stay in London for a while, then sleeping on the street obviously wasn’t an option. He still needed to find a hotel.

Not long after that, Ragnar exchanged gold for ten thousand pounds at an underground black-market shop.

It was a loss, sure.

But the shop owner wasn’t exactly a good person either.

They were all part of the same gray market anyway. Otherwise, there was no way he would’ve been able to trade that much gold for cash so quickly.

As for the exchange rate, it was obviously below the normal market price.

Still, Ragnar didn’t care.

After all, if there was one thing the Gate of Babylon had no shortage of, it was gold.

On the way to the hotel—

“Cough, cough...”

All around him, pedestrians had begun coughing one after another.

At some point, a strange fog had spread through the city without anyone realizing it.

Ragnar glanced at the streets around him.

“I thought I’d somehow ended up back in London during the Second Industrial Revolution.”

Just then, a woman hurried past him.

She pressed a handkerchief over her mouth, but even so, she still inhaled some of the mist and couldn’t help coughing twice.

Standing in the fog, Ragnar could barely see the road ahead. Everywhere around him was the sound of people coughing.

“What the hell is this? London smog shouldn’t be this bad, right?”

He genuinely had no idea whether this was some awful local feature... or something else entirely.

If people in London really breathed this stuff every day, wouldn’t they all end up with pneumonia?

Then, through the dense fog, Ragnar saw what looked like a blurry figure standing in the distance.

“That’s... Cursed Energy.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Another Cursed Spirit?”

Ragnar started walking toward the figure and drew out Five Visions: Spectator from the Gate of Babylon.

“This fog... isn’t ordinary.”

Even with Five Visions: Spectator equipped, his vision was still being distorted by the mist.

At best, it only let him see about five meters farther than before. Everything beyond that remained swallowed by the white haze.

“Unlucky, unlucky, unlucky...”

Why the hell was it that everywhere he went, a Cursed Spirit that people might not see once in years would suddenly pop out like it had been waiting for him?

Thud.

Suddenly, Ragnar’s foot slipped.

He steadied himself at once, then looked down—

And his expression changed.

At his feet was a shocking mass of blood-red flesh spread naked across the cold ground.

Thick crimson liquid slowly flowed outward like a winding stream, crawling across the road in every direction.

And in the middle of that blood—

A woman lay there silently.

Dead.

And not just dead.

The way she had died was brutal enough to make anyone’s stomach turn.

She had been disemboweled.

The abdomen had been ripped open, exposing parts of her organs, while the smell of fresh blood rushed straight into the air and punched into his nose with nauseating force.

“This woman...”

Ragnar crouched down and turned her over.

Then his eyes shifted slightly.

“It’s the one who passed by me earlier.”

The memory of brushing shoulders with her only a short while ago flashed through his mind.

Normally, for someone to die that quietly in such a horrific state, there were only a few possibilities.

Either they had been killed beforehand and then mutilated after death...

Or the killer had used some method completely beyond ordinary means.

Ragnar examined the corpse carefully.

There were no obvious strangulation marks on her neck. No signs of mechanical asphyxiation. No noticeable external injuries anywhere else on her body either.

Aside from the grotesque wound in her abdomen, there was nothing.

Which made the conclusion even clearer.

Other than a Cursed Spirit, there shouldn’t be anything capable of disemboweling someone like this and killing them without allowing even a single scream to escape.

And more importantly—

This fog was definitely not normal.

Even a Noble Phantasm couldn’t fully see through it.

Ragnar slowly rose to his feet and felt the mist around him growing thicker and thicker.

Then, not far away, he saw it again—

A vague silhouette standing opposite him.

“What’s this supposed to mean?”

Ragnar stared into the fog.

“Are you trying to make a move... or are you waiting for something?”

The figure remained there for a few seconds.

Then, just as suddenly, it vanished back into the mist.

About half an hour later, the heavy fog gradually began to disperse.

Soon after, ambulances and police cars flooded into the area, blocking off the street and surrounding the bodies that had been found.

Judging from the expressions on the faces of the officers and medical staff, this clearly wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

Ragnar looked at the scene in silence for a moment.

Then he muttered to himself,

“Foggy London... living up to the name.”